Safe From Me
by DreamchaserDarine
Summary: (Suikoden II spoilers!) McDohl must tie up a certain loose end before leaving Gregminster.


Safe From Me

by Dreamchaser Darine (dazorkian@aol.com)

Spoilers for Suikoden II.

I originally wanted to write something explaining what McDohl was thinking in the scene you get when you bring Kasumi along on the subquest—you know, that scene in which he just stares out the window and doesn't say a _word_. Even though he's a mute main character, it still struck me as kind of odd. I also wanted to give the two of them some semblance of closure, and give the poor boy a bit of hope. 

I recently realized that the story doesn't fit into any real timeline, and just exists in some weird mid-game limbo. I suppose this would be in the world of a person who went through the McDohl subplot, never went back to get him afterwards, and inexplicably ditched Kasumi somewhere along the way. Oops. o_O I'll fix this error in the near future, but this story has been stewing in my Document Manager for so long that I just want to get this posted and see if you readers can find other things for me to fix. Constructive criticism and comments are always welcome!

[The name Endrey (for McDohl) is the creation of Catherine Rain. (http://www.crystalrain.net)]

***************

She was wandering Gregminster again. She often did, now—but, for some reason, she never sought him out. Every once in a while she would look towards his window, but didn't see him, couldn't see him watching from behind the white curtains. She would lower her wistful blue eyes, then turn away and out of sight at the next corner. 

Watching it all repeat that afternoon, Endrey felt pity for her, but to his embarrassment, he felt somewhat removed from the issue, even though he was certain he was at its core. It was as if half his mind refused to admit it was involved at all, while the other half protested it _was_. Leading large groups of people he could handle, so why did he have so much difficulty relating to a single person? Another Star of Destiny, no less, and tied to his own fate. He knew he should go out to talk to her, knew it was his moral obligation and, beyond that, it was what he _wanted_ to do--but he couldn't. He was ashamed to even show his face around her; though her devotion to him was more than that of a follower to leader, he was not sure he felt such feelings for her. He truly did feel sorry -- Kasumi was such a gentle, quiet person, and to see sadness in her dark eyes tore him apart inside, especially knowing that sadness was his fault. Still, he had difficulty assessing the situation in a non-objective way. Kasumi made him feel awkward. If he kept away from her, everything would be okay, right? No, of course not.

Finally, he took his eyes from the window (although for the past few minutes, he hadn't really been watching anything, anyway) and wandered to his bed. He sat down heavily, rumpling the covers and cringed, glancing toward the door. With all the unhappy memories associated with this house, he did not need another, but it had crept in regardless. 

_He had been looking out his window, watching the streets of Gregminster, observing the familiar faces and people as they went about their daily lives. He knew the people, the streets, their daily routine… or at least how they had been before the war.  They had all more or less returned to that state, and even the war up north had not disrupted them too much. People liked to have ordinary lives when there was chaos nearby._

_"It's been a long time," she had said, after she entered. Her feet had barely made a noise on the carpet, and he had startled at the sound of her voice. "It's…It's been three years."_

Yes, it _has_ been awhile. But… I'm starting to get used to it. 

_"Hello, Kasumi…" he had tried to greet her casually, but it had come out as a whisper._

_She had told him about Rokkaku's reconstruction, and about the rebuilding of the towns in the Great Forest by Kirkis and Kuromimi. "Everyone is leading new lives…"_

So they're doing well, then. That's nice to know. I haven't seen them in so long…

_"And I…I've grown a bit," she had reflected._

You have—you're three years older. You're not the same wide-eyed, nervous girl I remember from the war. Everyone else is older, too, grown up. Yes, everyone, but…

_"But…"_

Of course. _But._

_"Master Endrey, you…you haven't changed at all…"_

I haven't, have I? Three years of moving from town to town, three years of long days sitting, fishing, or just doing nothing, three years of hiding, worrying, and thinking. Mostly thinking. Three years of the same face staring back at me out of the mirror. I can't even grow a beard. It's kind of silly, because I don't even want one—but it would be something different.

_"It's really…just as Luc said…"_

You do know, then. So I don't need to explain…good. I'm sick of thinking about it.

_"I…"_

_She had stopped herself, leaving the word hanging in midair, choking off the rest of the sentence. Her eyes had darkened, and she had shaken her head, as if trying to erase the rest of the thought from existence._

_"Forgive me…"_

What?

_"Forgive me…I'm a fool…Please…forgive me, Master Endrey…"_

_And she had fled the room, not looking back at him, before he finished processing what she had said and was able to prepare a response. Endrey had remained standing there for a moment, flustered. Why had she left? What should he have said? She hadn't exactly given him time…_

No, I shouldn't blame her. Ah, what a _mess_…

_Cleo met him on the stairs a bit later. "Young Master, Kasumi ran out in tears a bit ago. Is something wrong?"_

_"I don't know," he had lied._

Sensible Cleo could always see through him. "Well, Master Endrey, I'll leave your affairs to you, but if you do know what's going on, you ought to talk to her and set things right."

         Endrey tugged at his wild bangs in frustration. _Why couldn't I have said anything?_ he asked himself, as he had so frequently since that event. He hadn't _meant_ to make her cry. It was just that there was nothing more to say—everything she said was true. He didn't know how to respond. _And I still don't, even days later, _he reminded himself bitterly.  _What can I do now?_

         He needed to leave Gregminster soon, that much he knew. The place held so many memories of both poles, both kindly bittersweet ones and those that were downright unpleasant. It was torture to remain there each day—a dull, persistent pain. All the time he saw people he knew, either from the war or before, and as much as he would have liked to get used to them or get to know them better, he wouldn't dare. The Soul Eater hadn't taken a human soul in three years--when would it take that of another person close to him? Maybe it never would, but he could not take the chance. It was better to leave. Despite whatever sorrow and pain came to him travelling alone, it was infinitely more important that others did not suffer. Yes, it was, he had convinced himself. He needed to be concerned for others over himself, and bear the rune for them…otherwise his suffering would be for nothing. It was what kept him going, gave him a reason even at the darkest, loneliest times: the hope that he could help someone, even at a cost to himself.

Yet, at the same time, that obligation which _forced_ him to leave _forbade _him from leaving. It was not the new republic; Lepant and the rest could get along just fine without him. It was that same, burning issue again--Kasumi. He knew if he left without a word it would hurt her even more, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. It was the easy way out, and so tempting—but it would plague him forever, and forever was one thing he knew he had. Still, how _could_ he properly say goodbye? _Adieu, Kasumi. Ta ta, fare thee well. Sorry, I can't stay to chat-- see this rune on my hand? It might eat you. _No…of course none of those would work. They were trite, black humor, and just prompted bitter laughs.

What would Gremio have told him to do? _Young Master_, his fallen friend's voice called to him from the depths of his memories, _you really must tell her what you feel, and what you don't. It's your responsibility! You must be true to yourself and to Kasumi. You can't just keep avoiding her._

Be _true_ to himself? He didn't even know how he felt—how could he be true to uncertainty? Sometimes he thought he might return Kasumi's feelings—but did he really love _her_, or was it just that the idea of loving someone was so appealing? It would be nice to love someone. It would be nice to be loved back. At the moment, however, even if the option was open to him, he didn't think a relationship with Kasumi was what he wanted. Maybe he wanted just the _possibility_ for a relationship with someone, and the opportunity to make that kind of decision when he knew what he would decide. 

He sighed heavily and restlessly stood up to look out the window once more. The ninja was sitting on a bench in the town square, watching the fountain. Endless cascades of water shimmered over the statue of the late Empress Claudia, immortalized as the golden angel of the golden city. At the very least, he had to apologize to her and explain himself for that incident. And when he got stuck (because something told him he would)—well, he would just have to wing it. Now was as good a time as any, and if he didn't do this now, he would probably be too afraid later. _Come on, now, Young Master. Let's get it over with._

Summoning all his resolution and sending out a prayer to any deity within earshot, he left his room and started down the stairs, closing the doors behind him so he would be less tempted to give up and run back.

         _Just please_, please_ don't let me make her cry again._

_*        *        *_

         Pigeons were pecking into the cracks between the white stones, which made up the streets of Gregminster. Seeing them brought a faint smile to Endrey's nervous face—even after a war, even after three years, even after so much change, those pigeons still congregated in front of his house. Carefully he closed the door behind him, and inched forward to the flock, slowly_, slowly_—

A pigeon saw him, and, cooing, the flock flew away as one.  He sighed—it was always like that. Those pigeons would never let him get close to them. _Someone hit_ _me if I try to use that as a metaphor for myself,_ he thought, trying to make himself laugh. It was no use to feel sorry for himself on a regular basis. His Rune _wasn't_ the great ultimate master over his world, wasn't the key factor people used to form their opinions of him. Sometimes, no, _often_, things happened completely unrelated to it—and the pigeons were a reminder of that. _They_ were not afraid of the Soul Eater, no. They just had bitter memories of years ago, of Endrey running headlong into them, laughing and yelling with all the exuberance of a child, forcing them to fly away with injured dignity.__

After giving a last fond look at the pigeons as they alighted further down the street, Endrey turned towards the fountain, where Kasumi sat alone on the bench, lost either in thought or in watching the lazy city. He squeezed his hands into fists and shut his eyes just as tight for a moment as he took a deep breath, then, trying to be resolute and strong and yet look completely natural all at once, walked on towards her. _You've led men into _battle_, Endrey. You've looked death and danger in the face. Surely, you can do _this_._

"Kasumi?"

         She turned at the sound of her name, surprised—then started again, probably at the sight of who had said it. She stared right at him, her face reddening slightly, but her eyes unmistakably brighter. As he spoke, Endrey focused his eyes on the stucco wall of a building just past her ear.

         "Good afternoon, Master Endrey."

"I'm here to apologize." It came out too quickly; it was perhaps too much rehearsed. But Kasumi did not seem to notice how mechanical it sounded.

"Apologize?" She was genuinely surprised. 

"I acted rather cold the other day. It was rude of me. I'm sorry." Endrey noticed himself slipping into formality. It was so much easier to speak that way, to distance oneself from an uncomfortable topic of discussion by climbing up to that high peak of neutrality and analyzing everything below as an observer, not as a participant.

"It's...it's all right," Kasumi said. Her eyes were still wild and wide at _him _catching her unawares. Endrey thought, yo_u don't even think of what you're saying, because you've already forgiven me. Because you honestly believe I can't do anything wrong—is that it? You're too hard on yourself, Kasumi._

"I didn't know what to say," he explained, but the excuse felt and sounded lame to his ears. The self-assurance gained and the formal attitude it had come with was slipping away, and he had felt he needed to say something, anything, to extend the conversation and get out the meaning he was trying to convey, however clumsily. _Oh, no, there's going to be an awkward silence. I hate awkward silences._

But there never was one, because Kasumi spoke up, so quietly, but loudly enough for her words to be clear to him. "…Do you now?"

Endrey decided that there was no need to dress up his indecision before presenting it. "No," he said bluntly. _But I'm going to try to talk anyway, God help me_. He took a deep breath, and sat down on the bench next to her. "I'm…I'm also sorry for something else."

"Master Endrey?"

"I'm sorry I don't love you."

Kasumi stared at him, astonished. She was taken completely off-guard, and was, at least for the moment, more shocked at Endrey's candor than what the words actually meant to her.

_Well, that _was_ the direct approach. Way to go. Here's your awkward silence._ Bombarded by guilt and an immense desire to run away, with nerve-wracking heat rising in his face and ears, he tried to save himself. "I mean… I mean… Maybe, if the world was different and I didn't have this Rune… But, the world isn't like that."  He floundered, grasping for any words that sounded right and could not be misconstrued to offend her in any way. "And don't for a _minute _think there's anything wrong with _you_," he exclaimed before Kasumi could even open her mouth to apologize. 

"You're a wonderful person, Kasumi. I'm just an ungrateful fool, with a foolish Rune and a foolish fate." _That sounds stupid. _"Well…I know I have control over my future, but _this is_ something I can't avoid." He waved his right hand limply, but pointedly. He knew she would understand what he meant. "And, like I can't avoid this, I also can't change my feelings. And so…and so… I'm sure you can find someone else. You deserve to be happy."_ You might be giving her mixed messages, trying to sound so tragically heroic like that. But hopefully you've gotten the point across._

         For a moment, Kasumi said nothing. She turned her eyes down, away from Endrey's face.   
"Somehow," she said finally, almost to herself. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that, something like that."

"I'm sorry, Kasumi."

Thankfully, blessedly, she looked up again. It was worse to be directly _not_ looked at than directly looked at, Endrey decided, even though the latter was a bit embarrassing.

"No…no, it isn't your fault," she reiterated, but just as sincerely as the first time. "_I'm _sorry."

"_Kasumi_, it's not _your _fault, either," Endrey stated firmly, determined not to let her pile blame on herself. "I'm really sorry."  She looked away again.

Hunched over with her arms crossed on her knees, she looked so despondent Endrey was afraid she was going to cry—but she didn't. She tilted her head and looked up at him, her eyes wet and shining-- but with a slightly mischievous smile on her face. "I'm sorri_er_."

Endrey, so tense and nervous, was confused for a moment by her sudden change in mood—but when she started laughing softly, he had to laugh himself. Perhaps it wasn't even terribly funny—but they laughed anyway, and Endrey found his anxiety had started to fall away. 

"Ninja Kasumi, as your former commander, I _order _you not to be sorry," he said gruffly, putting on a stern face. Kasumi delicately wiped a few tears from her eyes, her shoulders still shaking with quiet laughter. They both sat that way, laughing softly every so often, for a while. The lack of speaking wasn't awkward, somehow, now that the wall between them had finally been breached.

"You're going to leave again," she said after a while. Of course she knew the answer—Endrey felt guilty about having to say it.

"I have to." 

"It isn't fair!" she cried out suddenly, her voice cracking, pleading. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed for a moment, then, ashamed by her outburst, quieted abruptly, trying to control herself. Endrey fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable and useless, thinking he could feel the eyes of startled passersby boring into him._ You jerk, you made her cry again. _

Kasumi was stronger than some credited her for, and regained her composure quickly, assuming the standard blank, ordinary mask of a ninja. People started to ignore them again, to Endrey's great relief.

When he started to talk again, he did not elaborate on why he had to leave, how much he hated it but why he had resigned himself to it. Somehow, he felt she understood—and it was nice, not to have to explain it.  A sudden realization: because she understood, he felt he could say something more, could get right to the point and not feel hesitation…

"I want you to be my friend, Kasumi," he said. She looked right at him. "It's lonely to wander. But I can't take anyone with me. Maybe…maybe it's selfish. But I want to know I have a friend somewhere, someone who will call me Endrey and not by some distant title because I used to be their commander in some old outdated past. Someone who will think of me sometimes, and wait for me if—_when_—I return."

 "Then…" she said, after a moment, and untied the scarf from around her neck. "Take this. And you'll always know you have a home here in Toran, and someone who will always welcome you—as a friend." He noticed the way her voice strained at the last words. But neither of them could do anything about that.

He took the scarf. It was soft and pinkish red, with a K embroidered in the corner. "A precious gift from my friend," he said, and smiled at her, warmly, reassuringly. She smiled back, painfully at first—but after a few moments, it became sincere and everything seemed to brighten. 

"Of course I'll be your friend…Endrey."

It felt nice—the moments he had been dreading had passed, replaced by the contentedness, the relief, the fullness and happiness of knowing one can consider someone a friend. For once he felt at peace, after so long harboring a gut-wrenching loneliness, the desire to reach out to people and also the fear, the terrible fear of the consequences. Kasumi would not follow him—Kasumi understood him and the Rune. And his friend would be safe from him forever.

*        *        *

Endrey left Gregminster early the next morning, after farewells to Cleo and Pahn. It was painful, of course, but slightly distant. There had long been an unspoken understanding among them that Endrey would leave when he had to, and he would return when he saw fit, and none of them should dwell on their regrets. 

The air was cool, wet, and hazy, and the sky he saw through the trees in the Banner Pass was still gray, but hints of blue could be seen as the sun rose higher. A deep breath drew in all the smells of the pine forest, and the calls of songbirds, the chattering of squirrels filled his ears. He slipped through the secret entrance to Rokkaku, and handed a small envelope to a ninja out for a morning walk (strangely making no effort to be hidden—but even ninja wanted to be lazy sometimes, he supposed)—then disappeared into the foliage. 

Kasumi received it later, but was not too long wondering who had sent it. The address read, "To Kasumi, from someone who may wander—but is lucky enough to have a friend."  The envelope contained a pewter pendant on a leather cord. One side depicted a white lily, the Liberation Army's symbol; on the back were carved two initials: EM. 

*        *        *

Perhaps in the distant future, a campfire blazed at the base of a sandy hill. It belonged to a woman, rugged and worn with long journeying. A boy had approached her earlier that evening, to share her fire, for the cracked, barren land grew bitter cold at night—a fair-faced boy, with soft black hair and unfathomable but bright, intense brown eyes. Too young to be travelling alone through the wastelands, she thought to herself, but made no comment. She watched him through the flickering flames as she poked the burning logs with a stick. His skin was not pale, but in the darkness, when the fire was not reflecting red on his face, it looked like he had lived in the shadow of death. She shuddered, but immediately felt somewhat guilty. She shouldn't fear him.  It was probably just the shadows playing tricks.

He had pulled something out of his sack—a handkerchief, of a scarf perhaps—and was examining it with care. His face had taken on a sad, introspective expression, a faraway look of remembrance of a time long past—but he looked too young for such feelings. Maybe there _was_ something peculiar about this boy.

"Did someone give that to you?" she hazarded, her curiosity getting the better of her, and hoping for an interesting story to tide her over for the next days in the desert.

He looked over at her with strange ancient eyes and murmured a response. "A friend gave this to me, long ago."

As he turned his gaze back to the scarf, somehow she knew that it truly was long ago; so long ago a long ago even she would not have been alive to remember it.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the boy smiled softly, brightly, and all his sadness fell away. Because even alone in a world of strangers, in his mind he had returned to his friends, to that faraway place in his heart called 'home'.

FIN


End file.
